Gayest Person Ever? Author Joel Derfner wants the title

"I would cover it in glitter," Joel Derfner exclaims as he examines a hot-pink hard-shell suitcase in the Sanrio store in Times Square. "Well, I'd probably want to cover it in glitter, but I'm too lazy. I'd totally use it, though. But probably not in Egypt." It's not too hard to picture Derfner, with his rainbow-bead necklace, tan sweater, and nervous gestures, dragging the girly piece of luggage behind him. Derfner is, after all, the author of Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever (Broadway Books, May 2008), a memoir in which he recounts his adventures in knitting, cheerleading, musical theater (of course), GLBT summer camp, and step aerobics. Oh, and casual sex—lots of it. The book includes a soap opera–worthy interlude in which Derfner's boyfriend finds his blog, the formerly anonymous Search for Love in Manhattan, and confronts him about his secret screwing. Their drama, however, has a happy ending: Derfner was forgiven, and the pair, who've been together for five years, recently got engaged.

A native of a Charleston, South Carolina, suburb, Derfner hated New York when he first visited, but now the Crown Heights resident says the city's laissez-faire attitude toward sexuality is one of its great appeals. One of his favorite gay Gotham locales is the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, where he sang while learning to knit, and whose congregation "has historically been composed almost exclusively of men who know the difference between beige and taupe." That's just one of the oddly charming tidbits Derfner—who is Jewish—reveals in Swish. The book is peppered with more than a bit of religion along with the campiness its title suggests.

Of all the stereotypes he mockingly (and sometimes seriously) grapples with, one is by far the gayest: step aerobics. "It's the sissiest thing you can do. Getting fucked in the ass is less sissy than doing step aerobics," declares Derfner, who laments that not enough attendees of the classes he still teaches appreciate the camp factor. "It's so ridiculous; you're dancing around a plastic platform and Britney Spears or Donna Summer is playing. Most people just come to exercise and it can be kind of grim." In person, it's hard to think of Derfner as ever being grim, even though his cheerleading chapter devolves into a traumatic tale of OCD and depression. As he chomps McDonald's fries and chicken tenders, shaking slightly while he talks, Derfner seems fragile but upbeat as he insists we leave the $1,450 Hello Kitty necklaces and giant dolls behind and check out nearby Cold Stone Creamery, where we continue chatting over oozing cups of ice cream and candy.

Despite his book's provocative title, Derfner in fact doesn't necessarily want to be the poster boy for the gays, or at least, he doesn't have the stamina. "I basically don't have a social life. It's really sad. I don't go to bars, I don't go to parties, I don't like events. I'm too old to stay up that late; I've never gotten home at five. I like going to the movies and eating at cheap chain restaurants." So, while his shyness may mean that he'll have to concede the gay throne to Ryan Seacrest (hold your lawsuits—it's just the name he mentions when asked who could possibly succeed him), Derfner isn't too upset. More than being the gayest, Derfner is obsessed with people liking him.

When a man shoves cash into his underwear, he's no longer the boy who was "asked to leave the floor during the fast skate at the roller rink at Randy Cohen's tenth birthday party," but a horny, sweaty man who is desired by other horny, sweaty men. In many ways, the book is about his search for acceptance, often of the physical variety (even though he's in a relationship, he can't help giving the fish eye to any guy taking away his crushes). A typical Derfnerism: "I just wanted to reinvent myself again, but with anal sex instead of Snickers."